


Coming to Terms

by orphan_account



Category: Firefly, Serenity (2005)
Genre: M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-09
Updated: 2009-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-02 04:23:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mal finds himself unexpectedly pregnant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming to Terms

Mal had never seen Simon so angry. His entire body was rigid with it as he leaned against the infirmary counter.

“Got no choice, son. No one else coulda been the father. It ain’t right, a man not knowin’ he’s gotta kid. Got no choice but t’try ‘n find ‘im.”

Simon wasn’t sure what part was upsetting him more: that Jayne was going to have a chance to insinuate himself back into their lives after Simon had waited so long for him to have a final falling out with the captain and go, that Mal was still calling him ‘son’ months after they’d started sleeping together, or that the lab results confirmed beyond the shadow of a doubt that Mal had let that illiterate ape fuck him, something he’d never allowed Simon to do. 

“And here I thought it was bad enough just being your second choice.”

“Simon! It ain't like that—” Mal started, but the doctor had already snapped off his gloves and stormed out. 

* * * *

“I wanna knit ya some things. Be nice if’n we knew it were a boy or a girl,” Kaylee said. She wasn’t sure why Mal seemed particularly upset today. He wasn’t giving her any clue though—mostly he was just staring into his tea, as if by pure force of will he could transform it into whiskey. 

“Can they . . . tell?” Kaylee added hesitantly. “With menfolk, I mean, same as women?”

“Reckon so, Kaylee.” 

Kaylee didn’t look satisfied with that answer.

“Simon ain’t speakin’ t’me. I ain’t gonna ask ‘im for a test—don’t think he wants this whole mess thrown in ‘is face any more than it has t’be.” 

“‘Mess’? Cap’n! S’a **baby** we’re talkin’ ‘bout—”

Mal sighed. “Either way, it’s got no daddy—least . . . one daddy less than it should have—an’ that ain’t no way t’come inta the ‘verse.” 

Kaylee looked back at her own tea. “Still no word then, huh?”

Mal didn’t answer. 

“All those bulletins—an’ nothin’?”

Mal’s look told her she shouldn’t, but Kaylee pushed on anyway, never having been one to tolerate silences. 

“Probly he’s just off on some job with that fancy ship he took up with. He’ll be back ‘fore you can spit. An’ with all that coin he’s been makin’ with that new crew o' his, think of all the fine things he’s gonna be able t’get fer you an’ the baby.”

Mal was too tired to fantasize about taping her mouth shut and throwing her in the hold. 

* * * *

“He’s a **mercenary**, Mal. He kills people for a living. Be realistic . . .” 

Mal’s arms were crossed, his jaw set like it was whenever he was seriously considering throwing a punch or two.

“. . . I know you don’t want to hear this, but you need to. He’ll be dead within . . .a couple years, **tops**. We both know that. He’s not the sort of person you can count on—” 

Simon hadn’t meant to take things this far, but the words tumbled out anyway. “—even **if **he did have a complete change of heart and came back to you.”

As obtuse as the doctor could be about people, he saw immediately that he’d gone too far. But Mal was out the door before he had a chance to try and take it back.

* * * * 

_Just hormones_, Simon thought. _Par for the course in the second trimester_.

He wasn’t entirely sure how following Mal back to his bunk to apologize had led to frantic kissing; Mal rubbing their bodies together, pushing his tongue past Simon’s lips, pulling Simon’s shirt up enough that he could slip a hand beneath and grip at the small of Simon’s back. 

“Mal—this is just . . . your hormones being out of whack.”

Simon tried to pull himself away, to ignore Mal’s obvious arousal pressed up against him and the fact that his own body was quickly responding in kind. He tried his best not to be glad that Mal ignored him, dragging him back into his grip. 

It took several more minutes of those fevered kisses—warm tongues sliding over one another, strong arms around him, the captain’s breath on his neck, the scent that was uniquely Mal—before Simon regained some of his resolve.

“Mal, I’m not kidding—” 

“An’ lemme guess, you ain’t willin’ t’take advantage of a man in my state?”

The words would have stung more if Mal’s voice hadn’t been so needy and breathless. If there hadn’t been a note of pleading in every word. Besides, Simon knew he deserved it after what he'd said in the infirmary. He could almost make himself believe that was the reason he was giving in to this, that he was doing it for Mal. Letting his shirt be pulled over his head, letting his hands go to unbutton the clasps on Mal’s fly. 

As they tried to get in better position, Mal winced visibly.

“Got things sore on me I didn’t know I had,” Mal said, apologetically, meeting Simon’s concerned gaze. The embarrassment on the captain’s face made Simon hurt a little.  

“I know,” he said, kissing Mal’s temple, guiding him gently to the bed. “Just let me do everything.”

After they’d held each other awhile and Simon had kneaded some tension out of sore muscles, after his tongue had thoroughly explored the skin between Mal’s torso and thigh and the expanse of neck beneath his ear, after the captain had cried out not once but twice—not Simon’s name either time, Simon couldn’t help but notice—Mal was peacefully asleep. Simon lay awake and tried not to think about what this meant, or worse yet, that it might not mean anything at all. 

* * * *

“Kid ain’t gonna be that size for more’n a few months,” Mal said disapprovingly, trying to find a place to put his bowl of protein down amongst all the sewing wreckage. 

“But nothin’s more fun than **tiny clothes**,” Kaylee said beaming, putting a hand around his shoulder and squeezing him affectionately. “Especially tiny **pink** clothes.”

“Just trying to help out, sir,” Zoë said, doing her best to sound disinterested. 

“Tiny clothes . . .” said River introspectively. “For a lot of people, they tap into something primordial.”

Mal shook his head, spoon already scraping the bottom of the bowl. 

“Everyone’s makin’ a fuss.”

* * * * 

“Jayne—no!” Simon pulled the pig-tailed girl away from the food vendor’s grease vat before she got too close. “Stay close to Daddy while we’re off-ship.” Simon scooped her up, propping her on a slim hip. The girl stared over his shoulder, still entranced by the bubbling gold liquid. She didn’t turn away until Mal approached the two of them. 

“Zoe an’ me are gonna stop by the post on our way t’the meet up. See you back the room about 1700?” 

“Right. I’ll have her bag ready to go for Zoë.”

“Glad we’re gonna have some one-on-one time t’night. Been lookin' forward to it.” 

“Me, too.”

 

Mal dropped a kiss on the little girl’s forehead then bent further to press his lips to Simon’s.  "Love you."

"Love you, too."

* * * *

At the post, Zoë knew better than to say anything when she handed Mal the envelope with familiar handwriting but no return address: 

_Deer Mal, _

_Got yur letters. reckin you no I cant come back. Aint cut out ta be no ones daddy.   
Some coin inclosed fer things ya need fer the baby.  
Dont name it Jayne less its a girl.   
_

_Jayne _

_PS - you otta take up with Simon if n he s still arownd. Boy had eyes fer you long as we knowed him. Make a real good dad too._


End file.
